Chapter 2

2

DELIA

I don't want to go into the house. Like, at all.

Because I know that inside this house is going to be more of Dean Dixon. His scent, the things he touches every day, his bed…. oh, no. I don't want to go inside at all.

Actually, that's a lie. I want to go inside too much. I know I shouldn't, but I really, really do.

How in the hell did I manage to go from planning on breaking up with Brody to feeling weak in the knees at seeing his father? Talk about a silver fox. Or a wolf might be more accurate. Dean Dixon looks like a predator that might eat me alive, and I just know I'd enjoy every minute of it.

Meanwhile, his frustrating-as-hell son keeps trying to touch my arm and my lower back as if we didn't fight most of the drive over. If I hadn't already promised that I'd spend the weekend with him, then I would have definitely bailed, but Brody had basically begged.

The thing is, I told him before we left Providence that I didn't think this relationship was working out, but he insisted that we hold it together for the holiday just so he didn't have to spend the entire time stuck in the house with his dad who he just didn't see eye to eye with.

I wanted to say no, but Brody had pulled my ass out of the fire last month when my bakery's oven had stopped working and there was no one to come out and look at it on a Sunday night. I was the only one scheduled, and my boss wasn't answering. I knew if he came in the next day and there were no pastries to sell, I'd be so fired. He greased the palms of some repairman who reluctantly came out to fix the oven, which was great.

Brody whining that I wouldn't sleep with him afterward, though, was not so great. I had promised him a favor at any time as long as it didn't have to do with my body or his, and this Thanksgiving trip is what he chose—even knowing that we're basically broken up.

That's why the touchy-feely nonsense is bothering me as much as it is. But even that takes a backseat to how Dean is making me feel. Because…wow. Just wow.

I stepped out of Brody's car, sore and desperate to pee since the asshole refused to stop the whole way here, and stretched while I enjoyed finally getting out of the vehicle. Then I opened my eyes and looked forward, and found myself looking at the Rhode Island equivalent of Thor.

My heart had started beating so fast that it was almost scary, my mouth going dry…nipples going hard…hell, even my pussy started to tingle when his eyes met mine. It's like every part of me that had been sleeping was suddenly awake, and lust roared through me like a storm.

Dean Dixon is no less than 6'3, skin bronzed from working outside, and his dark hair and beard flecked through with silver, especially at his temples. He's so packed with muscle that it looks like his shirt is straining to control his broad chest and thick arms.

With a wide mouth, thick brows, a large nose, and stormy gray eyes, his face drew me in more than his body, which is saying a lot. Because he definitely has the hottest body I've ever seen. When he came forward to shake my hand, I could smell the motor oil from the motorcycle he had been working on when we arrived, but underneath that, he smelled like an evergreen forest—sharp, fresh, and warm. I wanted to bury my nose in his neck so much that I had to take a deep breath to stop myself.

God, the effect this man is having on me is so wildly inappropriate that I don't know what in the world I'm supposed to do. He makes all of my feminist ideas go flying out the window, and I can see myself barefoot and pregnant in his kitchen, cooking him an extravagant meal after being fucked senseless. He'd come up behind me and rub my shoulders, kissing the side of my neck and telling me exactly what he wanted for dessert….

Christ on a cracker. Get it together, Delia!

I shake my head to disperse all the thoughts I definitely shouldn't be having and force myself back into the present. I don't want to go into the house because of how much Dean is affecting me, but what choice do I have? This insta-crush I've developed on my boyfriend's dad isn't going to get me out of having to spend this holiday here. The sooner I get over it, the better.

But when Brody passes by me in the doorway and I'm left with Dean close enough that our shoulders could touch, I'm absolutely positive that I'm not going to get over it. He looks down at me like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen—like I'm an oasis and he's dying of thirst. No one has ever looked at me like this, and I have never wanted to touch another human being so badly.

"Are you two coming?" Brody yells from further into the house. "Stop messing around, Delia. You don't need to put on this polite princess act for my dad."

"I am polite," I blurt out to Dean, flustered and embarrassed by Brody. "I'm not a princess, though. But definitely polite."

Dean's smile is slow and luxuriant. "Oh, I don't know. I think you could be a princess if you really wanted to."

Oh my God. Why does that make me so hot? I swallow hard, a nervous giggle popping out of my mouth. This stoic man teasing me makes me want more, but before I can tease right back, Brody pops his head around the corner, and I can basically feel Dean shut down again.

I wonder what that is all about.

"Delia, seriously. Come on," Brody says.

I sigh and walk past Dean, but his hand brushes the small of my back and it sends a wave of heat through me. I look up at him, and he gives me a small, private smile. "If you don't mind, I'd like to use your bathroom," I say, needing an excuse to get away from both of them and collect myself.

"Down the hall, first door on the left. There's an attached bath, and there's plenty of hot water if you want a shower."

"Thanks."

"I'll take a shower too. I stink," Brody announces, leering at me. I'm ready to tell him absolutely not because we haven't even done more than kiss. What the hell is he thinking? But before I can say a single thing, Dean takes over.

"No, you stay here and help me bring your stuff in."

My stomach twists, and I don't know if Dean is really doing what I think he is. Is he trying to keep me and Brody apart? I appreciate it, but it's not like Dean can possibly know we're on the verge of breakup anyway. Does my boyfriend's dad really think something might happen between me and him?

Because...yeah. I want it to, but I also know how wrong it really is.

"What do you mean? She's my girlfriend," Brody insists.

"I'm sure she'd prefer a little bit of privacy." Dean's eyes cut to me. "That and you didn't even ask her if she wanted company."

He's not wrong. "Uh...no. Thank you. A shower alone would be great."

Brody crosses his arms over his chest and stares at Dean, looking petulant and ridiculous. He looks like a child. "Fine. Whatever."

"Thank you," I whisper, and Dean nods. I'm still reeling from the exchange when I close the bathroom door behind me.

Holy shit. What in the world is going on?

After taking the longest shower of my life and washing away all the grime from the road, I dry off and stare at myself in the foggy mirror. "Don't get too excited," I tell my reflection. "He's probably just being protective. Don't read into it, Delia. You're here for Brody and to enjoy a good meal. That's all."

Saying the words out loud doesn't stop my heart from beating double-time.

Once I'm dressed, I walk back into the living room, but Brody and Dean are nowhere to be found. My purse and the bag I packed are sitting on the floor in front of the couch, and I pick it up, looking around. "Hello?"

No answer.

I take the time to look around the house and what I see makes me smile. I had been in such a rush to get away from all the testosterone before that I basically had blinders on, but despite all of Brody's complaining about his childhood home, this place is nice. Charming.

There are signs that it was first decorated sometime in the eighties—simple things like the pale polished wooden cabinets and a black and white tile kitchen floor—but everything else is simple and modern.

Dean must not be a decorator, but what he does have is well-placed and classic. There are framed newspaper articles and a few awards that Dean must have won on his way from police officer to police chief hanging on the wall. The furniture looks expensive and handcrafted, with a huge plush gray couch that seems like an odd choice for a bachelor. Underneath the flat screen hanging on the wall, there is what I first think is a bookshelf but, on closer inspection, is a collection of vinyl records. So Dean Dixon does have a personality. Interesting.

I turn the corner and walk down the hall, and the first room has an open door and is definitely Brody's. It's a small bedroom with a single bed and posters from bands and movies from his younger years still hanging on the wall. It's the only room with a door that's still open, so the next door must be the master.

I bite my lip, thinking about what Dean's room might look like, and decide to indulge. I reach for the handle, but it swings inward, and I'm standing there with my hand still on the knob, my eyes going wide.

"Sorry, sweetheart. Didn't mean to scare you," Dean says, a towel wrapped around his waist and another over his shoulders. He's drying his hair with it, and droplets of water bead cling to his broad chest.

My cheeks heat, and my pulse pounds in my throat. I'm frozen, not able to move or form words. Dean smiles and it's so damn sexy that it's all I can do not to throw myself at him. He looks like the kind of guy who would catch me, and that's not a good thing. With a deep breath, I force myself to step back, putting my hand to my chest and shaking my head. "Oh, no. Sorry. I just...uh..."

"Just looking for me, huh?" Dean teases. Even from the door, he smells fresh like clean man and soap, and it's all I can do not to breathe him in.

"Yeah," I manage, even though I'm pretty sure there's a lump the size of Texas in my throat.

Dean laughs and turns back to look at me. "Well, now you've found me. You need something, princess?"

His words send a bolt of lightning straight to my core, and my mouth opens, but no sound comes out for a full thirty seconds. "Uh… I forgot, actually."

"I'm sure it will come to you. Meanwhile, I didn't know if you were hungry or not. But if you want to stay for dinner, then you can help me pick up some Chinese."

I nod. "I'd like that." I avert my eyes finally, even though it's much too late to hide my obvious interest. "Have you…um…seen Brody?"

Dean's expression shuts down once more. "He's out on the front porch having a beer."

I'm not surprised. It figures that the first thing he would do when we got here was find a way to get drunk.

Observing Dean and how his posture changes, a lightbulb goes off in my head. Brody has described his dad as a jerk for as long as I've known him, but to me, Dean has been anything but…except when I bring up his son.

So maybe the problem isn't Dean after all. Maybe the problem is Brody.

But I'm not here to psychoanalyze father and son, so instead, I just give Dean a tight-lipped smile. "Oh, okay. Cool. So when should we head out to pick up the food?"

"How about you go sit with him and let him know we'll be leaving soon, and I'll throw some clothes on."

Or don't. "Sounds good," I say despite my filthy thoughts. "Um...see you soon."

Dean smiles, and the softness returns. "See you soon, sweetheart."

Sweetheart. Oh god, that's not fair. I can't let that go to my head because the whole situation is just all sorts of wrong. I turn away and make my way back to the living room, grabbing a water bottle from my purse and heading out onto the porch.

The evening sun is painting the neighborhood in gold, and there are the sounds of families echoing along the streets. This is such a quaint little place that I can't believe it's the same town that Brody complained about so much. I love it here. It feels quiet—peaceful even—after the hustle and bustle of the city.

The charm wears off for me when I turn to see the man I'm searching for. Brody is leaning against the railing of the porch, smoking a cigarette.

I hate the smell of smoke, and he knows it. "Really? Where did you even get those?"

"Brought ‘em." He shrugs. "Relax. You're not the boss of me."

I bristle. "Never said I was."

I don't want to do this, not here and not now. Not when Dean is around the corner, and not when I'm still not sure why Dean and Brody are so at odds. But the fact that he's already being an ass makes it all too easy to argue. I do my best to hold my tongue.

"Listen, I don't want to argue right now. Your dad sent me out here to get your food order. We're getting Chinese. What do you want?"

Brody drops some of the arrogant act and tries a cajoling one instead, which means he wants something from me. "Well actually, one of my buddies from back in the day texted me and wanted to meet up at the bar. Since you're pissed at me anyway, I'm assuming you don't care if I go?"

There's a moment of excitement thinking about being alone with Dean, but it's quickly followed by worry that I'm going to get into trouble if Brody isn't around to remind me of just why Dean is not someone I can get involved with.

"Uh, I mean..."

Brody sighs. "Come on, Delia. Let's not start this shit again. You think we should split, so why do you even care if I go?"

"Because it's rude as hell, for one."

"Come off it, Dels. I won't be gone long. Just go watch TV in the bedroom or something."

He's really okay with just leaving me behind? We haven't even been here an hour yet! I'm so annoyed by how willing he is to blow me off that I don't even care about the awkwardness anymore. I just want him out of my face.

"Fine. Go. See if I care."

He grins, looking once more like the guy I actually thought I could see a future with. Now I know it's just an act. "Thanks, Delia. I swear I won't leave you here too long."

In my mind, I know good and well it's a lie. But I don't want this argument to go on any further. "Yeah, okay. See you."

Brody puts the cigarette out and tosses it down the steps before giving me a quick kiss. I turn my head quickly and take it on the cheek. "Thanks for understanding, babe. Bye."

I'm still standing on the porch when he drives away.

I wonder if I can get Dean to drop me off at a hotel instead of staying here alone. Probably not. I look at the empty beer bottle and the half-smoked cigarette and shudder at how close I was to falling for Brody's charmer act a few weeks ago. Even if he is an asshole, though, at least he's an asshole I know.

But I've just allowed myself to be trapped with his hot-as-hell dad who looks at me with fire in his eyes. I might have made a big mistake.

I'm about to text Brody and demand the address of wherever he's going or tell him to come get me when the front door opens. Dean is standing there, a pair of faded jeans and a snug white t-shirt hugging him perfectly.

Damn.

"Everything alright?" he asks, looking at me and then at the place where the Soul had been parked.

"Yep. All good. Should we go?"

He doesn't look like he believes me. "Where's Brody, Delia?"

There's no reason to lie. I hate the idea that my words might drive a wedge between the two men, but I'm just telling the truth. Brody made his own decisions, not me. "He went out drinking with some friends I guess."

Dean scoffs, unamused. "Fucking figures. I can still take you to get food if you want."

I nod, giving him a bright smile, hoping to combat some of the dreariness surrounding him. "Absolutely. I'm starving, especially if I get to pick out some of the stuff and you agree to try it."

He gives me a slow smile, and his eyes seem to darken. "Alright then, princess. Let's go."

His words shiver down my spine, and I try to do the responsible thing. "Don't call me that."

He raises one eyebrow. "Why not?"

"Because it's weird," I say, stepping back to let him pass.

Instead of walking inside, Dean moves closer to me and cups my face in his hand. The first touch of his skin to mine feels like a static shock, and I know it's the same for him when he sucks in a breath. "You don't think it suits you?"

I never did before, but when Dean calls me princess…I melt and burst into flames all at the same time. "I think I'm a 21-year-old woman. An adult. "

"I can tell." His voice has gone husky, and his gaze has dipped lower. "An adult woman that I'd like to treat like a princess."

I should pull away, especially when his thumb slides over my cheekbone, but I just can't. "You can't say things like that."

"Why not?"

My body sways towards him."I can't think straight when you say things like that."

He smiles, his thumb brushing the line of my jaw. "Good. I'd like you to feel off-balance because you do the same to me."

Oh god, please don't say things like that. My knees are already weak, and if I keep going like this, I'm not going to be able to walk.

"I'm not a princess," I whisper, and I can barely get the words out.

"I'll be the judge of that," Dean says.

Then he drops his hand and steps around me, leaving me a shivering mess on his porch.